


when the bells all ring and the horns all blow

by Caissa



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, New Year's shmoop, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22072405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caissa/pseuds/Caissa
Summary: The last week of the year has a certain magic to it. Anything might happen.
Relationships: Bedelia Du Maurier/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 34





	when the bells all ring and the horns all blow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NotPersephone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/gifts).



“The week between Christmas and New Year’s is such a liminal space, untethered from the quotidian rhythm of things,” Hannibal says, holding up a glass of prosecco to inspect it in the fading December light, having insisted on something bubbly for their customary after therapy wine. “One feels almost suspended in time, waiting for the calendar to turn its page.”

“Routine can have very strong affects on one’s personality, as you well know. Does it distress you to have your weekly habits altered in this way?”

Hannibal wags a finger at her, mock-chiding. “Now, now, Dr. Du Maurier, therapy ended fifteen minutes ago. I was merely making an observation to my colleague—and friend.”

“I apologize. And I agree with you. The last week of the year—the deviance from work, the parties and festivities, can leave one feeling unmoored. Sometimes it almost feels like anything might happen.”

A buzzing in Bedelia’s left jacket pocket startles her. She pulls out her phone to find a text message from Robert, the man she has been casually seeing this fall. _So sorry, can’t make it NYE. Come down with a bad case of the stomach flu. Let’s get together soon—xoxo._

Bedelia’s heart sinks unexpectedly. Concern, skepticism, and disappointment mingle in her stomach, turning it sour. Truthfully, she had been looking forward to the ball at the Governor’s Mansion, a rare night on the town for her. Showing up alone was simply unthinkable.

“Is something the matter?” Hannibal asks with concern.

She flips over her phone and tries to smother the embarrassment that threatens to bubble through her normally cool demeanor. “It’s nothing. A trivial disappointment.”

Hannibal takes a step closer. “Something I can help with, perhaps?”

The invitation with its gilt calligraphy and the garment bag with her new gown hanging heavy in her closet rush to her mind. She takes a swig of the prosecco, wine fluttering in her veins like fireflies, egging her on. She is a careful woman, but every so often she gets the urge to do something completely, wantonly reckless.

“What are you doing New Year’s Eve?” she asks him boldly.

He smiles back at her slowly, like a tiger lapping up a pot of cream.

***

It occurs to her sometime after her second glass of Kir Royale that she really hadn’t thought this through.

The evening had gone perfectly so far, like so much ticking clockwork. Hannibal had picked her promptly up at six and whisked them away to Annapolis in his Bentley, arriving just in time for hors d’oeuvres and cocktails. Her hair and makeup are immaculate, and she had received many compliments on her gown. She enjoys the way the way the midnight blue velvet swirls around her ankles with a flirtatious swish.

Hannibal, from the appreciative glow in his eyes, seems to enjoy it, too. And that was entirely the problem.

His hand slips beneath the small of her back as he guides her around the hothouse conservatory, converted into a ballroom for the evening. She is painfully aware of the low cut back of her gown, the way his thumb rests on an inch of her bare skin. The dress had not seemed so scandalous in the sterile confines of the fitting room, or when she had imagined Robert by her side.

Hannibal leans over and all but purrs in her ear, “You never told me how you acquired an invitation to this gala. I can’t say I ever imagined you as someone political.”

The room becomes more crowded and she finds herself pressed more and more into his embrace. Another thing she hadn’t thought through. “The governor’s wife is an old school friend.” A half truth—she and Kathy had competed for grades, for honors, for admirers—all while maintaining a brittle friendship. Clearly, Kathy believed her new role as Maryland’s first lady was the _coup de grace_ and she couldn’t resist inviting Bedelia to witness her triumph. “Here she is—Kathy, how are you? Thank you for the invitation.”

Her old friend, barely able to smile after several obvious cosmetic procedures, throws her arms around Bedelia. “Oh, Birdie, I’m so happy you came. Happy New Year.” Her dark eyes dart to Hannibal. “And who is this?”

“Dr. Hannibal Lecter,” he says, planting a kiss on her friend’s hand, eccentric European manners on full display. “It’s a pleasure to welcome the new year in your home.”

“Aren’t you the charmer? And so handsome, too.” Kathy leans over and says in a loud stage whisper, “Don’t let this one get away, Birdie. If you don’t want him, I’ll take him.”

“That’s what you always said in school, if I recall,” Bedelia quips.

Kathy reaches over and thrusts two more flutes of champagne into their hands. “Enjoy yourselves—must dash! I think the senator has just arrived.”

Hannibal watches their hostess dart among her guests before turning back and saying, “Your friend seemed to think we were dating. You didn’t correct her.”

Bedelia sips her champagne, trying to put out the fire in her cheeks, unwilling to answer.

“Perhaps you didn’t want to,” Hannibal says, his hot breath in her ear.

It was true. A partner at a successful DC law firm and good looking for his age, Robert would have been a perfectly acceptable date. But Hannibal, _Hannibal_ was something entirely other…unusually handsome as he flitted around the ballroom with a kind of preternatural grace that made people stare. He looked like an old film star in his simple black and white tuxedo, his only concession to his usual eccentricity the tiny garnet cufflinks on his wrists.

Bemused, he plucks the now empty champagne flute from her and deposits it on the tray of a passing waiter. He holds out his hand, as if gentleman escort is a role he is determined to play to the hilt this evening. “Would you care to dance?”

The live band is playing a Cole Porter tune, upbeat and bright, to welcome the new year. “I’ve never been much of a dancer, I’m afraid,” she says, but takes his hand anyway.

“We’ll see what we can do about that,” he says with a wink, before gliding her out onto the dance floor. Following in his lead, he moves her around the floor in what she vaguely recalls as a foxtrot, years of muscle memory kicking in from a misspent season as a debutante. He does not attempt anything elaborate, but his steps and his touch are confidant and smooth. Red hot and blue notes wash over them and it is easy to get lost in the romance of the moment. He is Fred Astaire, dapper and lithe beneath the golden streamers, and it makes her feel almost as graceful as Ginger Rogers. Joy bubbles up inside her veins, bringing an unexpected smile to her face as he twirls her around in a flourish.

The band segues into a different tune, one with a slower, more sultry tempo. Before she has a chance to suggest they sit down, Hannibal gathers her close in his arms. He shifts his hands lower so they are splayed against her naked back and she has no choice but to rest her palms on his broad shoulders. This is no longer a friendly dance between two colleagues—and if Bedelia is honest, she doesn’t want it to be.

“You go to my head, like the bubbles in a glass of champagne,” Hannibal says, echoing the verse of the song the band is playing. He smiles down upon her and it is like feeling the warmth of the sun. “I can’t think of a truer sentiment.”

It’s not idle flattery with Hannibal. It never is. “I could say the same.”

He spins them gently, slowly, and when they have stopped she is snuggled against his chest even closer than before. The lights have dimmed, the wine has relaxed her, and she just wants to stay inside the moment with him for however long it lasts. She rests her cheek against his chest and it fits like it has always belonged there.

“It’s nearing midnight,” he says wistfully. “This evening has a kind of fairy tale magic to it.”

“You almost don’t want it to end,” she says.

“Yes,” he says, moving his hand to caress the ends of her hair. He looks down at her very sincerely, yet his eyes still glimmer in the dark. “Do you remember the other day what you said about this week—that you felt something extraordinary could happen? That has been my night with you. Something I had always wanted to happen, but never thought possible.”

Bedelia’s stomach does a flip at the implications of his words. Suddenly she is acutely aware of how close they actually are to midnight, and what will customarily happen as the clock strikes twelve. No, no, she didn’t really think this through at all.

The crowd around them suddenly begins to chant, lead on by Kathy, who has grabbed the bandleader’s mic.

“Ten….Nine…Eight….Seven…”

Hannibal looks at her silently, drinking her in.

This is the moment she should push him away, but instead Bedelia finds herself all but drowning in the depth of his gaze.

“Six…Five…Four…Three…”

The anticipation builds and she feels herself draw closer, eyes fluttering, unwilling and unable to break free of the spell.

“Two…One…Happy New Year!”

Like it has been preordained, his lips crash down upon hers and he kisses her as streamers and confetti rain down around them. She kisses back, hungrier than she ever imagined. When they break the kiss, she is unsteady on her feet, woozy from passion.

“It’s a very long drive back to Baltimore, and so late at night. I took the liberty of booking us a room at a hotel near the waterfront,” he says. “Should you wish our evening to continue.”

She wants it so badly, she can’t even bring herself to reprove him for being so optimistic. “Yes,” she says huskily.

“To getting the new year started right,” he whispers before sealing his toast with another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> A mini playlist to accompany this fic:
> 
> [I Get a Kick Out of You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q-ZsNoufua8)  
> [You Go to My Head](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5zjftiwSoTg)  
> [What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FIcuK7wW8bU)


End file.
